


Burned

by crackinthecup



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Forge Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Slash, fallen banners, it should be, this is a thing isn't it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maeglin and Celebrimbor use the forge for entirely inappropriate activities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burned

"Someone might walk in." 

Maeglin paused, glancing up at Celebrimbor. There was an odd glitter in his eyes even in the dimness of the forge, a queer impatience in the way he had pushed Celebrimbor against the stone workbench. He gave a half-formed shrug, and administered a vigorous tug to Celebrimbor's breeches. The thin leather squealed in protest, sagging lower over his hips.  
  
"Maeglin—" Celebrimbor squirmed; he wriggled his hips against the edge of the workbench digging into his lower back and clasped firm fingers round Maeglin's wrist, attempting to pry his questing fingers away.  
  
Maeglin pulled his hand back, insistent. It slipped through Celebrimbor's sweaty fingers; the forge was growing hot.  
  
Celebrimbor opened his mouth to protest, to entreat that at least they remove to the privacy of his chambers, but against Maeglin's persistent yanking his breeches gave way with a rustle of leather to droop round his thighs. Maeglin wasted no time in taking him in hand, wrapping fingers slick with sweat round his hardening length, and his admonitions slithered from his lips in a gasp of delight.  
  
The air in the forge seemed to shiver in the haze of heat. The mouth of the great furnace stood a few paces behind them, gaping open and spitting a cavalcade of flames. They warmed Celebrimbor’s back, made his skin sizzle beneath the thin fabric of his tunic, and he leaned heavily against the bench and the heat and the glow. Maeglin shifted between his legs; he shuffled closer and nudged his thighs further apart with one robust push of his hand.  
  
Maeglin blinked up at him, not asking for permission, no, never. _(But he did, wordlessly, in uncertain little pauses when his hands hovered over Celebrimbor’s hips, his length not quite breaching him, when Celebrimbor’s beseeching moans finally loosened his abandon.)_

Maeglin ducked the glimmer of a smile against Celebrimbor’s pelvis, and the press of his fingers at the base of his cock made him buck his hips. Impossibly, as Maeglin lowered his head and the hot flush of his breath skated across such sensitive skin, he felt himself stiffen further. His left hand groped behind him; it latched onto the lip of the workbench and rattled the half-wrought necklace he had been working on, even as the other one strayed into Maeglin's hair, over the shell of his ear, caressing the delicate helix.  
  
His eyelids fluttered shut as Maeglin's lips closed over his tip. A low moan flickered past his lips, clotting in the still air, resonating far, _far_ too loud round the walls of the forge.  
  
Maeglin hollowed his cheeks; he built up a rhythm and rested his hands over the slant of Celebrimbor’s hipbones, stroking the ticklish skin just below his stomach. Celebrimbor's hips stuttered as he sighed in bliss, tipping his head back, wantonly. He wondered, recklessly, if anyone would walk in. But then Maeglin was swirling his tongue round his tip, and the sensation spread blank and exquisite through every nerve, scattering his thoughts beyond the edge of awareness.  
  
The back of his tunic was soaked through with sweat, he realized absently, almost detachedly. His fingers threaded through Maeglin's hair; they jolted open the gold clasp holding it back and tightened in the spill of dark curls. He bit his lip to stifle a cry as he felt the familiar clench of muscle in his belly. Pleasure seethed searing and liquid in his limbs, and as Maeglin took him down further still, those sensations coalesced for one bright, brilliant moment.  
  
Maeglin’s name sprang to his lips as he came, but he strangled the syllables and let them shudder low and inchoate. Maeglin wrapped his fingers round his length again, and that added pressure crashed into him, sending him spiraling even higher in a peak of dizzying ardor. 

As the tremors of orgasm mellowed in his limbs and the ache of weariness slid into their place, Maeglin drew back, and for a few static seconds counted only by the metronome of Celebrimbor’s labored breathing, he rested the crown of his head against Celebrimbor’s stomach. Celebrimbor’s fingers were still light against his scalp, tender now in their caress, and against that warm touch he closed his eyes. The radiant bounce of golden curls had been burned from his mind by Celebrimbor’s taste, lingering still on his tongue; he no longer saw blue eyes frigid with scorn. 

Far too soon time sped up again, and so did the churn of guilt in the pit of his stomach; he ignored it, out of habit. He hauled himself to his feet, wiping at the stickiness on his lips with the back of his hand; he made to turn away.  
  
"Wait." Celebrimbor reached out and caught at Maeglin's wrist, pulling, coaxing him back. Still drowsy with pleasure, he cupped Maeglin's face in gentle hands, and brought their lips together, once, tenderly; he could taste himself on Maeglin's lips, and even through his weariness, a strange, devious rill of desire crested within him. He leaned their foreheads together, blissful still in the absence of buzzing thoughts, and did not catch the naked expression quivering for a moment across Maeglin's face.  
  
Maeglin was the one to pull away. He did it gingerly, but in silence.  
  
"Work to do?" Celebrimbor asked of the sudden emptiness that yawned round him, injecting a jovial note into his voice; it was strained and quavered in its untruthfulness; his heart sank, and he shifted, averting his eyes, setting about lacing up his breeches.  
  
A beat cracked in the breathlessness of the forge. "Yes," Maeglin replied, oddly distant. Then he was gone with a slam of the door, and a cool breath of air wafted in, dispelling the stifling heat.  
  
Celebrimbor spun on his heel, steadying himself against the workbench. He raised a hand to his brow in a rough swipe across his eyes, seeing only coal irises and a secret smile. As he bent over the necklace anew, he did not bother to smooth the frown off his face. 


End file.
